Deadly Game With My Husband's Brothers

~~PEYTON~~

Tonight, I want to sin.

Like, really sin.

I wear a dress that screams "fuck me." Deep cleavage, loose hair black as the night itself. The fabric clings to my every curve, like a second skin barely covering my thigh.

I wouldn't even dare touch my toes.

I put my makeup skills to good use, creating dark eyeliner that's sharp and defined, like a wildcat on a mission.

I even dared to wear four-inch heels-the kind of sky-high torture devices I usually avoid.

But today it's time to step out of my comfort zone.

Enough is enough. I won't get the shorter end of the stick this time.

I slip out of the dressing room, the sound of moans low and sensual filling the air.

My ears are itching, my blood boiling. But I must get past the exasperating scene-like I always do.

I step into the master bedroom, but I still can't help but feel this way-as if a dagger went through my heart.

There is my so-called husband breaking the damn rules.

Bringing one of his flings into my bed. My fucking bed.

This one is a blonde with long, silky hair sprawled all over the sheets. Her hands wrap around Odin's neck, digging in. Her legs wrap around his waist like a goddamn pig.

My fists clench by my side, but I don't move an inch.

Odin's weight presses against her, his lips on her cleavage sucking on them as if they were the sweetest berries he had ever tasted, drawing out a soft gasp that mingles with the low growl rumbling in his chest. His fingers caress her thigh, going up and up.

I can't stand this.

I bite my lips, anger flaring in me.

God help me.

"Odin," I whisper, but it is loud-almost like a thunderclap.

Odin's head snaps, his eyes growing wide.

The blonde yelps, scrambling backward until her back hits the headboard. Her breath heaves like she ran a marathon; I bet that hurt.

Good.

"Jesus, Pey. What are you doing here?!" he barks, his brow furrowing like I was the one who broke the deal.

I raise my eyebrow, pointing to my chest. "What am I doing here?"

Odin runs his hand through his hair as he sits up. "So you were in there all along? I thought you were in the other room..." He trails off, his eyes wandering over me-my feet, my thigh, my hair, my face.

"Why are you dressed like that? You look like a ghost."

I smirk, tasting bile on my tongue.

A ghost that will haunt you in your dreams.

But not now; he can enjoy himself while he lasts.

Six hours-that's all it will take for me to gather myself to act like a normal human being, because if I act now, telling him he broke the rules...

I swear to God I might shove his face down the toilet and make him eat his shit.

"Pey..." Odin's eyes narrow, a little weary of my silence. Or he probably thinks I'm acting strange. He then sighs and gestures toward the door.

"Please don't ruin this night for me. If you can't answer a simple question, then show yourself out the door," he says, pulling on his collar, irritation creeping into his voice. "Be home by midnight and don't come in here when you get back."

My face scrunches, teeth clenching.

Oh yeah, when I get back.

"Yes, Odin, when I get back," I say, walking toward the door. Just a few steps away, I turn, my eyes narrowing as I catch sight of the key sitting on the bedside table.

I stretch out my hands. "My keys, please."

Odin glances at the key, then back at me. "Are you being serious right now?" he asks through gritted teeth, so his blonde won't catch it.

Oh well, she was looking, her gaze darting between both of us. Her legs were still parted, warming and ready.

Will she close that gutter?

My hand is still outstretched-no smile, my expression blank. "Give it to me... before we start pulling each other's hair. You wouldn't want your hooker to see it, do you?"

"Excuse me-", the blonde frown, her eyes darken like she would murder me just because I said the obvious.

Odin's jaw clenches, but he doesn't argue. He grabs the keys and tosses them over to me.

"When you get back-"

"Keep your paws off my stuff, you got your Lamborghini, I got mine. Next time I'll cut off one of your fingers," I cut him off, letting the key drop into my purse with a clang.

He wants to retort, but I don't let him. "See you at six AM."

With that, I turn and slam the door shut, more forcefully than necessary.

"Midnight. That's the deadline," Odin's voice echoes behind me, loud and infuriating.

Fuck him.

I don't move, still standing at the door, my back pressed against it, which is cold for no reason-perhaps I'm the cold one; the door's just leaching off me.

I look down at my dress, my skin-fair and smooth staring back at me.

I can't believe I'm doing this-no, scratch that. I can't believe I decided to do this. (I haven't done it yet.)

A few minutes earlier, when I heard the sound of the car screeching from his arrival, heels clinking, and hurried movements-like the whole villa was shaking. I didn't know what came over me. But I knew I had to do something different... so I wouldn't lose my sanity.

And here's the product of my irrationality, my impulsiveness:the dress, the shoes, the makeup.

Tonight, I'm going to cheat.

~~PEYTON~~~

When Odin suggested an open marriage months ago, I kicked against it like every sane wife would. I tried to reason with him, and I asked him why.

Why after our one-year marriage?

But he just shrugged, fiddled with his fingers, and gazed down as if he were trying to think of a believable reason.

Finally, he said, "I'm his daddy's choice, and Daddy's choices aren't always the best."

Oh yeah, those words had double meanings that cut deeper than any insult. He is trapped in this marriage and stuck with me for the next year. Because only when we complete our second anniversary will he get his inheritance.

His father's will, penned before the brain tumor stole him away, dictates that Odin must remain married to me for a full two years to inherit his property.

Two years.

We've only just crossed the one-year mark.

He sees me not as his wife, his partner, but as the lock on his inheritance, the obstacle to his financial freedom.

But the most painful part was that at first, things were good. There was a real spark between us. He agreed to be a good husband. We were intimate. Then, suddenly, he changed completely, like someone flipped a switch in his head.

He became distant, cold. Like a stranger living in my house.

He stopped talking to me. He slept on the other side of the bed. He acted like I wasn't even there.

And I didn't understand. What did I do? Where did it all go wrong?

Now I know. I was never really someone to him. I was just the wife he needed to get what he wanted. His father's choice. Not his.

That stings. It burns. It makes all those good memories feel like a lie, like he was just pretending until he was truly trapped.

And now he wants an open marriage? So he can go be with someone he chooses? Oh, scratch that-he has no true love interest; he just flirts around and gets to dip his dick on any woman he finds.

Now I'm fully in.

If he can cheat, why can't I cheat?

I slip my mask on and step into the bar. It's Halloween, but with a twist. It's a masquerade night. Everyone is masked, a sea of hidden faces swirling around me. They'd gone all out-a kaleidoscope of funny, try-too-hard-to-look-scary costumes. Fake blood, monstrous parodies, and towering wigs threatened to topple with every dance step. I'd chosen something simple, just the black mask.

It felt like the perfect disguise, letting me blend into the shadows while still participating in the night's strange ritual.

The music hit me like a physical force; the thumping bass slammed in my chest.

My toes curled inside my shoes.

Cold feet? No. Not tonight.

I'm one who they refer to as a stainless sheep back in the days of college. Never partied...never stayed out past curfew. Never tasted alcohol stronger than communion wine. Never danced with a stranger. Never even considered flirting.

...Tonight, that sheep was done being stainless. I'm not looking for anything serious, just a taste of the freedom Odin had taken.

I push through the entrance, my eyes scanning every masked face.

In this anonymity, finding someone I wouldn't later regret feels like a fool's errand.

"This is stupid," I mutter, slapping my forehead. This part of me, the good girl, the one who always played it safe, was screaming at me to turn around and go home.

Yet I push my way to the bar, needing a drink.

The bartender, a young dude with tired eyes, leans towards me over the clamor.

"Something specific you're after?" he asks, his voice surprisingly calm amidst the chaos.

I meet his gaze. "Give me something strong. Something that'll burn going down."

The words feel foreign on my tongue, but I welcome them.

"Coming right up." He sings as he expertly mixes a dark, ominous-looking concoction, the liquid swirling like a miniature storm in the glass.

He slides it towards me. "Careful with this one. It bites."

I take a long sip, the fire searing a path down my throat. It is exactly what I need.

I slide the glass back. "More please."

The bartender raises an eyebrow but doesn't speak. He slides another to me.

I sip it. But I stop. I'll take it slow; I don't plan on getting drunk tonight.

Just then, a staggering fella, a bit tipsy, stumbles towards the bar, almost bumping into my drink. I dodge just in time, swirling my drink to the other side. My hand hits a hard chest.

The glass slips from my hand, the entire liquid emptying onto the stranger, and hell-it pours directly on his groin.

The glass shatters on the floor.

"Oh shit!" I jolt in panic and glance up, and damn, even though he has a mask on, he sure looks pissed.

His eyes are dark. He doesn't move; he doesn't flinch. His eyes are fix on me intently, unnervingly.

I know running off without an apology is wrong, but I'm gonna run.

This guy is giving me bad boy vibes.

Before I can speak or even take a step, he grabs my chin, pulling me towards him.

I gasp, taken aback. And I blabber, cutting him off.

"I'm sorry, it was an accident," I say too fast.

His eyes narrow. He looks at me-really looks at me-like he's trying to figure me out. The words he had to say dies in his throat.

But he's still holding my chin like I'm some kind of prey he could devour.

"Will you please let go now?" I wince, ripping his hands off me.

I raise my hands in surrender. "I'm really sorry." My eyes trail to his torso, and hell, he was soaking wet. That bartender did give me a full glass, and I had only taken a sip.

"You, um... can go wash up in the restroom. I'm truly sorry," I say, scanning the whole club for anywhere to escape his suffocating gaze, his presence.

But no, he didn't let me take a step again. He yanks my arm roughly but not painfully. His voice comes in a whisper.

"Sorry can't fix everything, you know."

I freeze. That voice.

I turn to him. But there's no familiarity. Just coldness and trouble in its wake.

"I know," I manage to say. "But you're aware there's no way I can fix..." I gesture vaguely to his groin. "...this problem, right?"

He smirks. "You think this..." he gestures down there, "...is the only problem?" He then bends down and picks up a phone with several cracks on the screen.

My hands fly to my mouth. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry-"

"An apology won't fix this or my phone." He growls; his voice is kind of soft, but there's an edge to it, one I'm not comfortable with.

Without a word, I pull out my purse, dip my hands inside, and slip out my phone. I glance up.

"Account details."

He laughs-the kind of laugh that makes my skin crawl. No, it's not a funny laugh; it's clear I'm in trouble.

~~PEYTON~~

I'm in trouble, but that doesn't mean I'll shiver in fear all because of one mysterious stranger and his chilling laugh.

Nah.

"Come on," I say a bit defensively. "I'm offering you payment since sorry doesn't soothe you."

He stops laughing, yanks out the phone pouch, takes out the SIM card, and tosses the phone back to the ground. All the while, his eyes remain fixed on mine with an unreadable intensity, a weight that makes me feel rooted to the spot.

"How about you fix everything by drying me up?" he says finally.

My eyebrows raise, but I don't say anything; I'm done with all this shit. He's clearly out of his mind.

As I attempt to leave again, he abruptly rips my purse from my grip.

My breath hitches, my fingers spasming in the empty air. Before I can react, he turns and strides toward a velvet couch nestled close to the edge of the crowded dance floor.

"What the..." I turn, speechless.

The audacity...

I have no choice but to follow.

"You piece of shit! I need my purse back!" I scream, my voice barely cutting through the pulsating beat of the music. "Hey!"

I storm over to him, breathless.

He sits leaning back on the couch and pats his thigh; my purse hangs tantalizingly over his neck.

"Be a good girl and clean up the mess you've made."

I fumble for words; no one has ever made me speechless two times in a row.

I point a trembling finger to my temple.

"Are you..." I rasp, my word bank feeling empty, like what word can I scrape out to describe how crazy he sounds and how stupid and provoking he is?

"Are you out of your mind?!" I spit.

Words suddenly tumble out in a rush. "What do you think I am? A lap dancer!-"

"And what do you think I am? A wet pant?" he shoots back. "Get it over with and get your purse back."

I puff out a breath in frustration, and the worst part is there's one tiny voice in my head replaying my vow from a few hours ago.

I want to sin, and it says 'just sin; this is an opportunity,' like seriously.

I roll my eyes at the thought. This is no good way to sin.

I snap back to reality and take a long, deep breath.

"How about I pay for a lap dance, as many as you want?" I suggest.

He tilts his head, a smile curling up his lips. He scans me from top to bottom; every inch of me is under surveillance.

Then just like that, he sits up straighter, rubbing his chin, eyes narrowing.

"That's smart; you really are what they say you are."

"Excuse me," I frown.

That came out of nowhere. Is he on drugs or something? Nah, I don't think so; he's too calm but sounds more dangerous than a drug addict. His smirk is creepy. In fact, everything about him screams run.

Anyway, I shrug it off. "What do you say?"

He shrugs and leans back. "KK."

I sigh in relief.

"-but..." he added, unhooking my purse from his neck. "Only if you sit here with me and watch me get all the lap dances I want."

What the hell.

Before I can speak, he stretches out my purse. "Deal?"

I pause, thinking.

Fuck it, what choice do I have? Even if I try to play it smart, I can't snatch the purse from him without getting bitten back.

"Fine." I reach out for my purse, but he pulls it back, patting on the couch. "You'll get your purse when my pants are all dried up."

I just wrinkle my brow and slump beside him.

He leans close, eyes fixed on a few girls already coming our way.

"Which one would you like?"

I raise a brow. "Do you really have to ask me that?"

"The faster you cooperate, the quicker you get your purse." He whispers; the space between us suddenly feels too small.

I point towards any of the girls my finger touches. "The brunette, and yeah, you can have the other one with the big tits." I smile at him. "Satisfied?"

The ladies, barely in anything, stride toward us, heels clinking, hips swaying, and before I know it, the two ladies I chose are all over him like they've got super hearing or something.

One is at his back, fingers caressing his shoulders, too slow, yet somehow making massaging look so sensual.

The other one straddles him, her tits pressing against his chest, her face on his neck, whispering sweet nothings I don't want to hear.

She grinds on him, but he doesn't seem to be enjoying it very much. And that's when I notice-his eyes are on me.

I was too focused on the girls to realize quickly.

But then he taps on the girl's hand, the one who's massaging.

"Be at her service; she'll pay double."

Heat floods my cheeks. "What? I don't need a lap dance!" It came out too fast, but the girl is making her move, now in front of me. I don't miss the smirk on his face.

He's enjoying this, isn't he?

The girl was already on the blow job, and damn-looking at her... it feels so weird. Her ass is in my face... no, she didn't sit on my thigh, but damn... I can't... I can't take this.

My stomach churned. This wasn't the rebellious act I'd envisioned; it was just... icky.

I could see the faint sheen of sweat on her skin under the club lights, the strands of hair escaping her messy updo.

The rhythmic movements, so intimate and directed elsewhere, felt out of place with her backside as my primary view. It wasn't titillating; it was suffocating, a bizarre and unwanted intimacy that made my skin crawl.

I shoot up from the couch. "Are your pants not dry yet?" I snap, my heartbeat a mess.

He doesn't answer.

Fuck him then.

I grab my purse before he can react, dip my hand in, and pull out some cash.

I hand it over to the girls, trying to sound nice. "You were lovely tonight; thank you for your service, it was great."

I smile.

They take it and nod, turning to Mr. Big Bad Boy and blowing a kiss.

He remains silent.

I think that is my cue to run now.

I turn, ready to make a beeline to the exit, but a pair of arms grabs me, yanking me back. I stagger, my butt hitting something hard.

My body stiffens.

My thigh twitches. A jolt shoots through me, and I know he feels it too.

His hand wraps around my waist, lips so close to my neck, his breath fanning my earlobe.

My heart slams against my chest and I swallow; my throat suddenly goes dry.

The sudden closeness was just too much for me to bear, so I had to hold my breath... and freeze, waiting. For what reason I do not know, but a thought flashes through my mind before I can stop it.

It's been ages since I last felt a dick on me.